Twist of Fate
by DirtyShieldBrothers
Summary: It's 2001, and 20 year old Richelle has a chance meeting with Jeff Hardy, the guy of her dreams, and to her amazement, he likes her. But, before he'll further their relationship, she must sleep with his brother, Matt. Soon, she finds herself attracted to both of them. Het, NSFW, contains strong sexual content, MF, drug use.
1. Chapter 1

Richelle heard the bells on the door ring, and automatically stood up to greet the 7-11's next customer, her eyes still partially glued on an inventory form. When she looked to see who had come to the counter, her knees turned to water, her greeting died on her lips, and everything went black. She had a sensation of falling, but the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor with a cold bottle of Powerade pressed gently on her forehead, by a gloved hand. Her eyes focused, and above her, her fantasy guy, Jeff Hardy, or maybe an impersonator (did Jeff have those?), but fuck it, who cared, hovered over her, concerned; her rainbow haired knight in shining armor, or in this case, destroyed baggy jeans and a black wifebeater, and tattoos... It _was_ Jeff. The guy she thought about when she slept with other guys. Since she lived close to where he was from, she knew she might see him out and about someday, and she'd vowed not to make an ass of herself if she did, but here she'd gone and done it. _Real smooth, Richelle,_ she thought, and color crept rapidly back into her fashionably tanned face.

"Are you okay?" Jeff asked.

Richelle managed to nod. "Yeah, I think I just stood up too fast."

Jeff helped her up, and over to the stool where she'd been doing inventory. "You're trembling," he said, and touched her arm. "Are you cold?" Before she could reply, he untied a ratty green sweater from his waist and draped it over her shoulders. "Feeling better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"I'm Jeff." He offered his hand.

Richelle offered her shaky, sweaty one. "I'm...um..."

"Richelle." Jeff pointed at her name tag, and took her hand into both of his, and kissed it. "Charmed."

Richelle blushed so hard she thought her head would explode. "Embarrassed."

"Aw, don't be," Jeff said. "Even though all the blushing is really cute."

That, of course, only furthered her embarrassment. She couldn't look away, she was lost in his eyes, and completely at a loss for words. Jeff Hardy just said she was cute, or rather, her blushing was cute, but still, it had to count for something.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Jeff asked.

 _Oh my lord..._ Speechless, Richelle shook her head no.

"What time do you get off?"

Richelle cleared her throat, and to her amazement, she could speak, sensibly, even though her body was numb, and her heart was pounding in her chest so loud she was sure Jeff could hear it. "Five-thirty tomorrow morning."

"Would you like to come out to my dad's ranch tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yes." Her voice came out normally, but inwardly, she was a mess of adrenaline and other hormones. "I'm usually awake and ready to go by three-thirty, if that's okay."

"Perfect," Jeff said, and pulled a post-it from a stack of many on her desk, and jotted something on it with the pencil she'd been chewing on while she'd been doing inventory. "Here's my number."

She made her hands work, and took the post-it, and pulled off another. With the chewed-up pencil, she scribbled her own number and handed it to him.

He smiled. "Awesome." He gave her a quick hug, and went around to the other side of the counter. "I did want to get this Powerade, too."

Richelle finally smiled, and rang him up, pleased to be doing something that felt normal, that kept her out of the clouds. But when the transaction was over, he hopped up on the counter and kissed her, and the rest of her shift was more or less a fog after that, until Jeff called her around five and, just to say goodnight. She melted into a wad of pink bubblegum with X's for eyes, and the next half hour was the longest of her life.

Back in her bedroom at the apartment she shared with her best friend of many years, Shaylynn, Richelle tossed and turned endlessly. Sleep would not come easy. She wished she could talk to Shaylynn, or anyone else, but Shaylynn was out of town for a family reunion, and it was too damn early to call anyone, anyway. She got out of bed and went to her closet and dresser to pick the perfect outfit for her date tomorrow...was it a date? She didn't know what kind of ranch Jeff's dad owned. Would they be riding horses? She wanted to wear her new denim shirt dress, but if Jeff was planning on taking her out on a horse, a dress would make that awkward, to say the least. She decided on jeans, bootcut, not the bellbottoms and elephant legs she usually wore, in case she had to step in mud or manure, and her black and white Pumas. For the top half, a black bandeau-style bra-top, and one of her dad's decades-old mechanic's shirts, this one blue with red and gray pinstripes, with a red screen print of the Heil cat on the back. No need to pick jewelry, she only swapped hers out when something broke, but she did select her newest socks and drawers. She laid the whole pile on top of her dresser, and played with her long red hair in the mirror. She would wear it up tomorrow, held in place with black chopsticks. Soon, she was lost in a fantasy straight off the cover of a romance novel. She and Jeff, sitting on a checked picnic blanket near a crystal blue sparkling rill. The picnic was over, time for dessert, and Jeff pulled the chopsticks from her hair, gathered her to him, and kissed her, far more sensually than he had in the store.

She crawled into bed, and still deep in the fantasy, proceeded to do what we all must sometimes do to relax. Around seven-thirty, she finally drifted into a shallow, restless sleep.

The next afternoon, at three-fifteen, right after hanging up with Jeff, she went downstairs and out to the front of her apartment building to wait for him. She checked her purse and pockets half a dozen times, but she knew she was ready, she and the butterflies in her stomach, and her sweaty palms.

She wasn't waiting more than five minutes when a chameleon-painted coupe with tinted windows pulled up. She knew it had to be his, and began walking over. He got out, and came around to open the passenger door for her.

"Hi," Jeff said, and hugged her. He smelled wonderful, like incense and weed and some kind of aftershave or cologne, and Richelle nearly melted into a pile of goo again. He was wearing a mechanic's shirt, too (gray, a Tool shirt), and she wondered if it was a sign.

She forced herself to be strong. She wasn't an eight year old girl anymore, and this wasn't a New Kids on the Block concert. She was twenty, almost twenty-one, and this was Jeff Hardy. This time, when he kissed her, she stroked his hair, and the back of his neck, and he responded by pulling her even closer, and turning the kiss into a french kiss.

He broke the kiss, and smiled down at her. "You're glowing. And, we should get on the road."

Starry-eyed, Richelle sat down, thankful she no longer had to stand on legs that felt like a Jenga tower. Jeff kissed her again quickly before closing her door. In the few moments it took Jeff to get around to the driver's side, and in the car, Richelle gave herself a pep talk, the way Shaylynn would've if she'd been here. _Relax, he likes you._

In the car, Jeff held her hand whenever he didn't have to shift gears. He stroked and complimented the bleeding heart plant tattoo that went from her wrist to just below her thumb. He talked about the ranch, in the family since his great-great grandfather, now his father's, one day it would be his, and Matt's. He and Matt had spent summers there as kids, and as well-paid adults, had seen to a number of renovations and upgrades.

"Are there animals?" Richelle asked, then, feeling stupid, added: "Like, horses?" Then she wanted to slap herself for sounding even dumber than she felt.

"Not since 1987. There are raccoons, skunks, deer, and other wild things on the property, but no farm animals."

Richelle giggled involuntarily, and immaturely, when Jeff said "other wild things on the property". Jeff somehow knew why she snickered, and he shoved her playfully. "Dirty girl."

"Who me?" She made a nun's pious face at him.

Jeff laughed, she'd made him laugh.

By four o'clock, they reached the ranch, acres and acres of land, some with old stables and outbuildings, some still heavily-forested, and in the center of it all, a sprawling, two-story wooden estate. Jeff pulled to a stop in front. "I figured we could take a walk around the property, if you want."

"I'd love to." Richelle grabbed her purse.

"Sweet. I just gotta run in and grab a few things. Did you want to come in? Matt's here, but I told him I was coming, and bringing a girl, so you probably won't see him." Jeff got out and opened her door for her again.

"So chivalry isn't dead after all, huh?" Richelle asked, coyly, and took Jeff's hand and allowed him to help her out of the car.

He planted another kiss on her cheek. "Not with me, babe."

She followed him into the huge house, which she could only think of as an upscale mancave, high vaulted ceilings, deer heads looming down at her, neon beer signs, an intoxicating mix of posh and tacky. He led her to a kitchen, which felt cozy despite it's large size and pulled out a counter stool for her.

"Do you want something to drink?" Jeff asked, and opened the fridge. He took out a bottle of water, and instantly she was thirsty. She nodded. He handed the bottle to her, and took out another for himself.

Leaning casually against the counter across from Richelle, Jeff drank a few swallows of water. "I've just got to run up to my room and..." he set the water bottle down, and threw himself over the counter into her arms.

They began making out frantically, their lips and tongues which had been cool from the water quickly warmed. Richelle wrapped her arms around Jeff's shoulders and her legs around his waist and pulled him close. She felt his erection pressed hard against her, and she was helpless to let out a little moan. Jeff gave her a gentle nudge to confirm it, and softly bit down on her bare shoulder, and sucked it so hard she knew she would have a hickey.

He admired his handiwork and smiled. "Mine." He said, playfully, and kissed her again. "But, we can't very well have a picnic inside...Oh, fuck, did I just say picnic? I just ruined my surprise."

Picnic, Richelle's fantasy. Another sign?

"I still have to run upstairs and grab a few things before we head out. If you want a bathroom, there's one down that hall, on the right. I'll be back." Jeff hurried upstairs.

Richelle grabbed her purse and headed to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink; Jeff had indeed left a huge, reddish-purple love bite on her right shoulder, and her face was beet-red, her eyes glassy. She splashed some water on her face, blotted it dry with toilet paper instead of the hand towel, and reapplied pressed powder and lip gloss. Then, she spritzed pheromone body spray on her neck and in her ample cleavage. One final look, and she left.

Jeff was waiting for her in the kitchen, a hemp backpack over his shoulders, and a small cooler under one arm. His other arm went around her, and they left the house and strode out, through what had once been a pasture, and into the woods.

Jeff helped her over fallen logs, and held low-hanging branches and moss away so she could pass. He led her to a clearing, and set down the cooler and his backpack. "We're here."

Richelle smiled as Jeff spread out a green and white striped blanket (not checked, and no bubbling brook nearby, but it was still her fantasy just the same). "Can I help you with anything?"

"Nah, just have a seat and relax." Jeff opened the cooler. "Water or beer?"

She took off her shoes and sat down in lotus position on the blanket across from him. "I'll stick to water, thanks." She was finally starting to really feel relaxed, and on level with him. She didn't need a beer.

Jeff handed her a water, and got a beer for himself. He unpacked the rest of the cooler, and she was happy to see nacho cheese Doritos, her favorite triangles ever. There were also chicken salad sandwiches, a plastic tub of blackberries, and a big chunk of angel food cake. "Dinner is served, milady."

"Why thank you, noble knight." Richelle unwrapped a sandwich.

"Hope you don't mind wheat bread."

"Not at all, it's actually what I buy." Richelle took a bite. "Mmmm. It's funny, I never had a piece of wheat bread until third or fourth grade. We had this assignment, we had to write instructions on how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, to a tee, then the teacher brought in the necessary, and we had to follow our own instructions. I was surprised to see most of the kids chose the wheat bread, so I decided to try it, too, and it was delicious, without the crappy stick to the roof of your mouth texture that white bread has. It was also my first time with crunchy peanut butter, and I never went back."

"I like crunchy peanut butter, too. Lots of times I'll just dip a spoon right into the jar."

"Me too!" Richelle exclaimed, then blushed for being so stoked about having something so minor in common with him, whereas they'd already shared much more. She giggled, and sighed.

"You're especially appealing when you get all bashful and flustered," Jeff grinned, and offered her a blackberry.

She opened her lips, and kissed it from his fingertips. It was just a tad tart, a day away from being fully ripe, and reminded her of summers spent and grandma's, picking raspberries and blackberries from the tangle of bushes. She picked up another from the tub and offered it to him. He took it the same way she did.

They finished their sandwiches, the berries, and some of the Doritos; another thing in common, a semi-addiction to Doritos. Jeff refreshed their drinks, and unwrapped the cake. He patted his lap, and she came over, and they began feeding each other chunks of cake. Richelle thought her heart would explode; it was the sweetest moment of her entire life, a sneak peek at a fairytale wedding, courtesy of the last guy in the world she would have ever thought she'd have a chance with. Yet, here she was, and here he was, and neither of them could stand it anymore. Jeff hail-maried the rest of the cake somewhere into the woods, and locked his lips down on hers as he lied back on blanket, taking her with him.

She could feel him pressed hard against her again. He wanted her. Her hands sought the buttons on his shirt and when she undid them, her hands did not shake. It was really going to happen, she was going to have sex with Jeff Hardy, and it was going to be good. Jeff unsnapped her shirt, and gently peeled it away. Richelle leaned down to kiss his chest, and his hands caressed her breasts through her bandeau top, until he found her sensitive nipples with his thumbs. Richelle felt the back of her mouth tingle, and she gave a breathless little cry and yanked off her top, a move that also sent the chopsticks flying from her hair. She barely noticed, and returned attention to Jeff's chest and abs. She began kissing a trail, all the way down to just below his pierced navel.

Jeff suddenly sat up. "As much as I don't want to have to, I'm going to have to say stop."

Richelle recoiled as if he'd slapped her. She turned away and put her mechanic's shirt back on, but her hands were trembling again and she couldn't do the snaps. Her bottom lip began to tremble, too, and she bit down on it.

"Whoa, babe...It's okay. C'mere." Jeff held open his arms again. Helpless Richelle rushed into them, holding him tight, and behind his back, she tilted her head up so as not turn herself into a raccoon, and fat tears poured from the corners of her eyes. But, that was all.

"It's not that I don't like you, I do, I really, really do. You give me feelings no one's ever given me before, and I'm smitten with you. I want to explore our chemistry together as a couple."

Richelle couldn't believe it. He had just referred to them as a couple! "Oh...oh...I feel the same way!" She gushed.

"But, there is one thing you have to do before that can happen."

 _Oh, anything for you, Jeff!_ Richelle's heart and libido screamed. _I'll do anything!_ But, she responded with a curious: "What's that?"

"My brother. Matt."


	2. Chapter 2

Jeff lit a joint, and handed it to Richelle. She took it, and took three hits in rapid succession. She had no idea how to respond to being told by Jeff that she would have to sleep with Matt if she wished to go any further with him, Jeff. But, there was one obvious question. "Why?"

"Lots of reasons. We're brothers, very close brothers, and we share a lot of things. Even though I'm the little brother, he's always been sort of in my shadow because I'm...more confident, I guess. He doesn't get the same opportunities I do, and when I have something special, I want to share it with him. And, because he's my big brother, I kind of have this need to seek his approval, I don't know why, I just do. And, I feel bad for him because he never gets laid or hit on."

Richelle drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. "Interesting." She was recovering from the initial shock, and considering Matt Hardy, the one she'd referred to at various times as "the ugly Hardy Boy", but he wasn't really ugly, was he? He just looked plain in contrast to his colorful brother, maybe.

"It would only be one time, then you and I can move on with our relationship."

"This isn't just some ploy to push me off on your brother?" The possibility had just dawned on Richelle.

"Absolutely not. I haven't wanted to let you go since the first time I held you." Jeff held her again. "You feel so...I don't know...Custom made just for me. Please, will you do it?"

Richelle wanted to believe Jeff, but seeing as she hardly knew him, and he was a performer, she didn't know if she could. But, even if he was trying to push her off on Matt, was that really such a bad thing? Okay, he was sort of drab, he lacked Jeff's flashiness and charisma, but he was Jeff's big brother, a blood relation, it wouldn't be a _terrible_ experience, just a not so shiny, charismatic one. "Okay," she told Jeff. "I'll do it."

Jeff looked as if she'd just agreed to his marriage proposal, and he scooped her up as if to carry her over the threshold. Her arms went automatically around his shoulders, and they kissed. "Do you mean it?"

"Yeah. I'm doing it for you, because it's important to you for some reason. I don't really want to have sex with your brother, but if that's what I gotta do to move forward with you, I reckon I'll do it."

"That's my girl." Jeff kissed her, and set her down, and after packing up, they headed back to the ranch.

Another thought occurred to Richelle. "Are you going to watch?" She asked.

Jeff shook his head. "No, that's not part of it."

Richelle stepped into the same bathroom she'd used before to re-examine the damage to her neck (two more hickeys, smaller ones) and fix herself up, not for Jeff this time, but for Matt. She brushed her hair and put the chopsticks back in, reapplied makeup and the pheromone spray. Although it was one hell of a crazy situation, she decided to go with it and show Matt Hardy the best evening of his life. She'd have him shouting her name so loud Jeff would be able to hear what _he_ was missing. Would Jeff want to fuck right away afterwards? Was that part of their thing? Was Jeff into sloppy seconds? Should she let Matt cum inside her? She was on the patch; there wouldn't be a Matt or Jeff Jr., not by her anyway.

Richelle stepped out of the bathroom. Jeff took her hand and led her upstairs, and down a wide hallway to a pair of double doors. "Matt's suite. I'll be in my room, the other side, the door with the art on it." He hugged and kissed her, and left.

Determined not to be nervous, Richelle knocked on the double doors. Nothing for a long while. This was her future with Jeff on the line, so she was about to open the doors when Matt opened them from the inside.

She had apparently caught him in the shower, or just after it, his dark hair was wet, and he smelled of some kind of aftershave or cologne, a different scent than Jeff's, but still sensual. "Come in," he said.

"I'm Richelle. Did I...um...Is this a bad time?" She gestured at Matt's towel.

Matt laughed, and Richelle was surprised to find it quite sexy. "Nah, I just got out when I heard your knocks. Come in, have a seat at the bar."

Richelle did, perching herself on a bar stool, she saw her reflection in the mirror. Even though she was playing cool, she didn't look very cool. Her face was very red, and to notice only made it worse.

"Water?" Matt asked. "Or something stronger?"

"Water," Richelle replied, and remembered her manners. "Please."

Matt handed her a water. "I'm going to throw on some clothes real quick. I'll be right back."

Richelle wondered why Matt would bother putting on clothes if he was just going to take them off, or would that be left to her? She put the water bottle Matt had given her against her hot face rather than drinking it.

Matt emerged from the bedroom, wearing black cargo pants and buttoning a club shirt. "Sorry about that, I just finished my evening workout, and felt I should take a shower before meeting you. You're beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you," Richelle smiled, and acted the coy maiden. Matt was not ugly, as she had long thought; he was handsome, just undecorated.

Matt reached under the bar, and pulled out just what she was craving, a big, thick glass bong. "Smoke?" He asked.

"Alleluia!"

Matt filled it with ice, and packed the bowl with the highest quality stuff Richelle had ever seen or smelled. He handed the bong and a lighter to her. "Ladies first."

Richelle took a huge rip. It was so smooth she never felt in danger of choking. And, even though she was an almost daily smoker, another hit and she was good. The ice-filled bong had broken her ice, and now Matt was just any other ordinary hot guy she might have met at a bar or at the pool hall who invited her home. Matt's suite did feel like a whole house, all that was missing was a kitchen, though there was a pizza oven, fridge and microwave in the bar.

"You really are a cutie," Matt said, with, true admiration. "Jeff sure did a number on your neck, though."

"Oh, yeah..." Richelle touched the areas, and giggled a little. Weird how she wasn't thinking about Jeff now.

"Did you want me to put a spoon in the freezer?" Matt chuckled.

"No, that's okay, the collar on my work shirt will hide them."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm the night manager at the 7-11 in Richton."

"Did you ever think about training to be a superstar?"

Richelle's turn to chuckle. "Oh, goodness no, I'm a wuss."

"That's what training's for. I doubt you're a wuss, though. You look nimble, and I'll bet I could teach you a few techniques."

Richelle coyly raised one eyebrow, a technique she'd perfected after months of practicing in a mirror. "I bet you can, Matt Hardy." She slid off her bar stool and over to his, and gently touched the open collar of his shirt. "I think I can teach you a few techniques, too." She had already figured out Matt wasn't like Jeff just in the looks department; _she_ would have to do the seducing. "Do you want to find out how nimble I am?"

Matt smiled. "What do you think?" He seized her caressing hand, and pressed it to his fly.

Again, Matt had surprised her. "My, oh, my. I think you move awful fast," Richelle replied, in her best imitation of a southern belle. But she did grope him through his cargo pants; my, was he big. He mmm'd with pleasure, then solemnly drew her to him and kissed her.

Richelle was surprised to find him an even more passionate kisser than his brother, and she all but melted when he slipped her the tongue. If he could do that in her mouth, what in the world could he do between her-

"Want to go someplace more comfortable?" Matt asked.

"Yes."

Matt tenderly picked her up and carried her to his bedroom. It was decorated in black, white, and silver, but sparsely furnished, and almost anonymous, aside from a large, pastel portrait done in the style of VanGogh, signed by Jeff and dated 1993 that hung above his bed. He laid her down on the bed as if she were made of glass, so gentle he was, and she drew him down on top of her and began unbuttoning his shirt. He let her peel it off, and chuckled when she dropped it to the floor.

"I think I'll put on some music," Matt decided. "Anything you prefer?"

Still embracing him, Richelle shook her head. "Nuh-uh, just make sure it doesn't suck." She released him, and he departed to the other room. Not knowing how much time she had, Richelle began stripping the second he walked out. Naked, Richelle knew she was a show-stopper. Smooth, salon-tanned skin, twenty-one colorful tattoos, flat belly with sparkly navel piercing, and her perfect, perky, natural breasts, 34D.

She struck a casual, sexy, yet expectant pose, and shortly after _Hey Mister_ began to drift in from the open door, Matt came back, and the look on his face gave her satisfaction; she'd wowed him.

"This is a CD one of my friends burned for me. Is it okay?" Matt asked her, unable to stop looking at her naked glory.

"Mhmm, it's perfect," Richelle turned over onto her tummy and gazed up at Matt. "Now, are you going to take off your pants and come play with me, Matt Hardy? Or am I going to have to come get you?"

Matt grinned, and loosened his belt. "You don't have to chase me down." He let his pants drop, and it was Richelle's turn to be wowed. Matt was very well-hung, larger than anyone she'd ever seen outside of a dirty magazine or porn movie; she'd made him hard as a rock, and to her delighted surprise, he'd dyed his pubic hair green, and had a cock piercing, not the infamous PA, but just a barbell, on the bottom side of his shaft, right below the head...not so plain after all!

"Wow! Did it hurt?"

Matt laughed, and climbed into bed beside her, and snugged her close. "Bleaching and dyeing my pubes? Nothing much suffered other than my pride; I lost a bet."

Richelle giggled. "No, the cock piercing."

"I know." Matt gave her an extra squeeze and kissed her forehead. "I was really drunk when I got it, so no, it didn't."

"It's hot. I like it."

"I can take it out before we have sex if you want."

"No, leave it in." She had never had sex with a guy who had a cock piercing before. "It doesn't hurt you, does it? You know, during...um, foreplay and stuff?"

Matt shook his head. "Quite to the contrary. It's right over one of my most sensitive areas, so it actually heightens my pleasure."

"Can I touch?"

Matt took her hand, and guided it down to his cock. "Of course you may. But thank you for asking."

Richelle handled him like fine china. Her little hand wasn't quite big enough to fit all the way around. She felt his precum wet her skin, how quickly it cooled. Matt mmmm'd again. "May I touch you?"

Richelle cast him a come-on look, let go of his piece, and posed supine on the bed. "My body is your playground."

And, Matt made it just that. He stroked and kissed every inch of her body, paying just enough attention to her overly-sensitive nipples not to send her into overstimulated twitches, but rather make her so wet she could feel the dampness on the sheet below her. Then, after kissing down the insides of her thighs, he focused his attention on what lay between. She was trembling, already on the verge of fireworks, and he hadn't yet touched her down there. He was just blowing hot air on her already hot sex spots, and Richelle feared that she would cum the moment he touched her with any part of his body, especially that gifted tongue. No one had ever gotten her so close to orgasm so early into an encounter before.

She thrust her fingers into his hair and grasped his head with both hands and wrapped her legs around his back. Finally, finally, Matt licked her button, and Richelle was helpless. Every inch of her skin was tingling, she was seeing stars, and she realized she was on the brink of passing out. But then, the most delicious sensation she'd ever felt collected between her legs, and she let out a screech she never had before as the most intense orgasm of her life seized her.

Matt knew just when to stop playing, right after the peak. When spent Richelle relaxed, he disengaged himself from her clutches, and moved up to spoon her in the quiet of the afterglow. Richelle had never felt so _close_ to anyone before. When she could speak again, she thanked him. Matt smiled and stroked her hair. "How were _those_ techniques?" He teased.

"I've never felt that way before. You're amazing... Hell, words don't exist to describe the greatness of your techniques..." Richelle sighed, happily.

"Do you want some water?" Matt asked, and offered her the bottle he was drinking from.

"Yes, thank you."

They shared the water, then resumed playtime. Richelle got down in doggystyle, but Matt shook his head. "I'm not really fond of that position," he said. "I'll do it if it's your favorite, but I prefer others."

It _was_ Richelle's favorite position, but she was curious about what Matt had in mind, so she sat back on her heels. "Gonna break out your copy of the _Kama Sutra_?" She teased, and kissed his neck, on the same place where Jeff had bitten hers. "Teach me more of your techniques?"

"Nope, this one's tried and true, missionary. But I promise you it won't be boring, and here's your chance to show off how nimble you are."

"Yay!" Playful Richelle giggled, and posed supine on the bed again.

"Not too crazy at first," Matt said, as he eased himself between her legs, and felt her with his fingers. "I like the closeness."

Richelle nodded. "I'm ready, Matt."

Matt smiled, and poked his way in. "You're so tight!"

"You're so big!" Richelle countered, and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him close as they started to fuck, very slow, and Richelle felt the pleasure rebuilding.

"You feel amazing." He held her tight as he drove deep into her, then, just as she was about to cum again, he straightened up, and guided one of her legs to rest atop his shoulder. He went at her faster, and Richelle involuntarily dug her nails into her own thighs. She wanted to prolong the pleasure, but it was hopeless, and soon she was again crying out, this time his name: _"Oh, Matt!...Oh, Matt!..."_ over and over, as the bubble of buildup burst into sublime pleasure.

"Oh, good girl! Cum for me, my beautiful Richelle. Good girl," Matt praised, and lifted her other leg up. She curled her hips up towards him, and went with his rhythm, hands gripping his tight ass, as he pounded her so hard she knew she would hurt tomorrow, but it didn't matter, she was off the next two days, so-

"Oh, fuck, darlin', you're going to make me cum," Matt gasped. "Should I pull out?"

"No, honey. I'm on the patch. Cum for me."

Matt groaned, and thrust into her as deeply as he could. "Oh, Richelle..." He sighed, as Richelle felt his hot cum fill her, pleasantly warming her inside. She eased her legs down, and wrapped them around him as he clung to her, breathing hard, knot still twitching inside. She brushed his long dark hair away from his sweaty neck and face and kissed him there.

As she felt him soften, she knew she should get up and make the infamous, ungraceful dash to the bathroom; gravity would soon take over, but with two hundred some-odd pounds of wrestler on top of her, she couldn't move, and didn't want to. Matt didn't seem to be the type to mind if she left a cumspot, anyway. So, she laid in his arms, and when he finally slipped out, she felt their mixed love nectar begin to drip out, itchy down her crack. She shifted uncomfortably, and Matt braced himself up with his arms to gaze down at her affectionately.

"Shower time?" He asked.

She nodded. Matt's shower was very large, but they still held each other close under the warm spray. He even stayed with her as she did her makeup and hair for the third time that day. He had to know she was readying herself for Jeff... But even as she did that, part of her wanted to stay with Matt and not go back to Jeff at all.

In the sitting room, they embraced. "Thank you. I had a wonderful time tonight," Richelle said, wistfully. "You're...delicious."

"You're a delight. Good night, Richelle, my belle."

Richelle giggled from the lovey-dovey feelings the nickname produced. "Sweet dreams, Matt my dark-haired warrior."


	3. Chapter 3

A clock somewhere in the big log manse chimed once as Richelle passed the main staircase on her way to the wing across from Matt's, where Jeff had told her he'd be. Automatically, she pulled out her phone to check the time. Ten-fifteen. She'd been with Matt for _hours!_ It had felt like only an hour, certainly not two, but it had been nearly _four hours_ since Jeff left her at his brother's door. She wondered if he'd be mad, but if he was, fuck him, it was his "thing" anyway, that she have sex with Matt for whatever reason. He'd never said she couldn't enjoy it.

More of Jeff's art decorated his wing, and she paused before a set of double doors, painted by Jeff. Behind them, he awaited her. She hoped he wouldn't want to fuck; her romp with Matt had left her somewhat sore already. She thought about going back to Matt again. If she did, would he let her in or turn her away? Her curiosity was about to get the best of her when Jeff opened one of the doors and they both jumped about ten feet in the air. Jeff almost dropped the glass bong he was holding.

"Oh, babe!" Jeff recovered first, and hugged her, the bong resting on her ass. "Go on in, I was just going to get some ice in this bong. I'll be right back." He kissed her, and went down the hall and downstairs.

Richelle was no longer thrilled by Jeff calling her "babe" when Matt had called her "Richelle my belle", _his_ belle. She went into Jeff's suite, and it was unlike any other dwelling she'd ever seen. It was terrible and beautiful at once. The beauty was Jeff's art; it covered all the walls, the terrible part was the place was a mess. The sitting room was overrun by musical instruments and recording equipment, the bar area had apparently become an art studio, and everywhere there were art supplies, clothing, makeup, drawings, paintings, money, liquor bottles, dirty dishes, drugs, body jewelry, lighters, ashtrays, and various assorted other stuff, as though a tornado had touched down directly between those painted walls.

She peeked into the other rooms. Jeff was apparently in the process of cleaning his bedroom; there was a pile of clothing in one corner, fresh sheets on the bed, and a vacuum stood in the middle of the room. The bathroom was sparkling clean, oddly enough.

"Sorry about the mess," Jeff said, reappearing with the frosty bong. "I started cleaning up, but got sidetracked."

"All of the art is amazing," Richelle said, and accepted the bong and took a hit. It was the same stuff she'd smoked with Matt. "I just love it. I have a lot of respect and awe for artists. I mean, it's one thing to be creative in one's mind, but to be able to bring it out...gosh..." She trailed, as she began feeling high.

"Want to see what sidetracked me?" Jeff asked.

Richelle nodded. "Of course."

He turned an easel towards her. On it was a charcoal sketch of a young woman. _Me!_ Richelle realized. He'd sketched her with her hair down, a faint, enigmatic look on her tilted-down face. It was the way he'd first seen her, bent over her inventory forms, but she was drawn in the shirt she was wearing today. He had just begun to add in dashes of red in her hair; not the firey-red she'd dyed it, but fire-engine red. No one had ever drawn her before, not even as a stick figure, and after meeting her twice, Jeff Hardy had already begun. And, it was beautiful, just beautiful, even amid the disastrous room. A lump grew in her throat, and her eyes welled with tears. She swallowed hard, and blinked the tears away. "It's lovely," she said, and sniffled. "I'm sorry I don't know what to say. I feel so...special. You made me so beautiful."

Jeff held her close. "You _are_ beautiful. That's why I had to draw you."

Richelle blushed. She had a ridiculous feeling that she was being unfaithful to Matt, who had a similar portrait by the same artist hanging above his bed. He had left her sore, but she knew he'd tried not to. She also felt uncomfortable amid so much clutter. She unconsciously shifted her weight from foot to foot, an old nervous habit.

"You alright, babe?"

"Do you mind if we go someplace more comfortable?" Richelle asked, quickly.

"Of course! Again, I'm really sorry about the mess. We can go to my bedroom, where I got more cleaning done, or there are several other rooms at our disposal."

"Your room is fine," Richelle replied.

"Okay, babe, I'll be right in," Jeff said, and began gathering various things to take with in with him.

Richelle went inside Jeff's room and sat down gingerly on the bed. Her soreness made her spread out on her stomach. She was used to being up all night, but after Matt, she just wanted to go to bed. She hugged a pillow and turned on the TV. _The Simpsons_ was on and she began watching it, even though it was nearly over. Jeff came in with the bong, weed, liquor, and other essentials in trips, before finally settling in beside her, then hopping up again. "Fuck, I forgot I had to piss, too." He grabbed himself and hurried into the bathroom, leaving Richelle to enjoy _The Simpsons_ closing credits, an ad for _Maury Povich,_ and the opening credits of _King of the Hill_ by herself. She smoked his bong and wondered if she should go check on him, maybe he'd passed out. He did seem pretty fucked up. She made up her mind to go during the first commercial break, but just before then he stumbled back into the room, wearing a towel.

"Baby, I am so _fucked up!"_ Jeff declared, and stripped off the towel. He collapsed into bed beside her so fast she didn't have time to check out the goods. He was laying on his belly, too. He had such a nice ass, something she hadn't noticed on TV. Something else she noticed; his eyes were dilated like hell.

"Yes, I can see that," Richelle said, not amused by his condition, but unable to keep her hands off his delightful, tattooed skin.

"I dropped acid a few hours ago," Jeff continued, smiling silly. He took a swig from his bottle of Wild Turkey.

"Did you now?" Richelle asked, in a tone that clashed with her gentle touch.

Jeff didn't notice her tone. He was beyond it. "Mhmm...What you're doing feels awesome."

"What point are you at right now?" Richelle asked, as she rubbed his shoulders.

"I peaked about an hour ago. I decided not to do more, since you were coming."

Richelle stroked his hair. He had not washed it when he'd showered, and the smell of bourbon hung about him like a fog. "You're drunk, too."

Jeff gave her that silly smile again, and nodded. "Goes nice with the acid...and the pills."

"Why didn't you wash your hair?" Richelle asked. _Or brush your teeth?_

"I just rinsed off real quick... Booze makes me need to piss, acid makes me forget I need to piss, until it's an emergency." Jeff giggled.

Richelle did, too. "My roommate's the same way. I have to remind her to go to the bathroom when we're tripping. If I forget, she's likely to wet herself."

"I've heard about it happening to other people, too, so I just admit it." Jeff shrugged.

"A likely thing to happen when one's body becomes detached from one's mind," Richelle said, and eased off her mechanic's shirt.

Jeff nodded and turned on to his side to nuzzle her breasts. She caught a glimpse of his goods. His pubes were non-present, shaved to be gone. In their place, more ink. He wasn't even halfway hard, but he was still leaking precum. She imagined he'd have a pretty nice one once it got hard. Not as huge as Matt, but still nice. She slid out of her jeans, and pulled off her top, feeling silly being fully-clothed next to naked Jeff, and who needed underwear or socks? She didn't get to surprise Jeff as she had Matt, but she could tell by his reaction that she'd wowed him just the same.

He broke out in a big, silly, grin. "Ohmigosh! Never would've guessed you had so many tats! They're awesome, too. Who did them?"

"A few different artists, here and further up the East coast. I'm originally from Vermont. After high school, my best friend and I started making our way down to Florida. We've lived here for almost a year now. Zoe at Black Dragon did these last two," Richelle pointed to a voodoo doll on the left side of her rib cage, and the number three on her right hip; a tribute to Dale Earnhardt.

"Do you still plan on going all the way to Florida?" Jeff gently stroked her breasts.

"I don't know. We like it here. There's still winter, but it's not as bad as it was in Vermont; winter is why we decided to work our way to Florida, where there is no such thing."

Jeff kissed her. "I'd never want to live anyplace else. I'm building a house on a lake here, so is Matt. That's why we're staying here now; they're nowhere near ready yet."

 _Matt._ Richelle blushed, but Jeff didn't notice. He was rather flushed himself, from the liquor. She sat up, and located a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand; they were Marlboro, but they would do. She lit one, and tried not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. Jeff's intoxication was turning out to be a _major_ turn off for her. He had really bad breath.

Now she did, too. After she finished the smoke, she turned attention back to Jeff, who'd closed his eyes. "Jeff?"

"Hmmm?" He didn't open his eyes.

"You awake?"

"Embers dance in amber sky..."

"What?"

"From the flames she appears..."

Richelle realized that Jeff was doing some Jim Morrison kind of thing, creating under the influence, and let him go on.

"Hair like fire... Hot coals' glow... Rising from the cinders..." Jeff opened his eyes. "And that's all I've got. It's a song...about a girl I know. Yes, it's you."

Richelle wished she'd paid more attention. "Thank you, it's...lovely." She wrapped her arms and legs around him and kissed his neck.

"Bite me," Jeff whispered.

"You want me to-"

Jeff nodded. "Yes, bite me!"

Richelle laid her teeth into his neck and nipped him a little. Jeff groaned with pleasure. "Yes, baby girl, that's it."

She did it again, and Jeff cried out again, only louder, so she kept going. Biting was apparently a huge turn on for Jeff. And, he was a nipple guy, he about went nuts when she played with them. He was hard as a rock, and she began stroking him, using his pre as lube. He threw back his head and moaned and cursed before sliding away from her, and then on top of her.

"You can nibble, but don't bite," Richelle told him.

"I won't, I can tell you don't like pain. You're already in pain, aren't you?" Jeff asked, concerned.

"A little," she admitted.

"Did my brother play too rough?"

"No, not at all. I just haven't done it in a while, that's all."

"Then I'll use my tongue, because it's soft," Jeff said. "We'll have plenty more opportunities to make love."

He dove between her legs, and began to lick her. It felt okay, Richelle had a feeling he did a much better job of it when he wasn't drinking, but she got vocal for him. Ten minutes later, she was nowhere near an orgasm; she was spent, and Jeff was already winded. The licks began to slow, and finally stopped, and she realized he had passed out. She couldn't believe it.

She sat up, and found her clothes. Jeff didn't stir. She got out of bed and put everything back on except her socks and shoes and tiptoed into Jeff's bathroom. He'd left the clothes he'd been wearing earlier on the floor in a pile, and he hadn't lied; the pants were wet, she could smell piss, too. She washed her hands and her face, but didn't put on makeup again. She weighed her options.

She could try to find a spot on Jeff's bed, he was really sprawled out on it, and pass out, too. She could go find someplace else in the huge house to sleep, because she was kind of mad at Jeff. She could call someone and get a ride home. Or, she could go to Matt. That was what she really wanted to do.

Jeff had spread out even more on the bed when she came out of the bathroom. She said his name, but he didn't respond, he was dead to the world. So, she wouldn't be sleeping with him in his bed tonight, that was for sure. She left his bedroom, and his suite.

But, she didn't go to Matt's. Instead, she went down the main stairs that divided the two suites, and into the kitchen. Time for a midnight snack. Cereal was her favorite snack, and was happy to find a box of one of her favorites, Rice Krispies. She wondered who ate it; Jeff or Matt. Maybe both. She located a bowl and spoon, and milk and sugar, and sat down at the counter.

Over the dying snaps, crackles, and pops of her nearly-finished bowl of cereal, Richelle heard footsteps on the stairs. Either Jeff or Matt was coming. Suddenly nervous again, she dropped her spoon in the bowl where it clanged noisily.

"Bro, is that you?" Matt's voice asked.

 _Matt, oh my god..._ Richelle's heart began to throb, and her throat closed up. She couldn't reply.

"Jeff?" Matt asked again, and appeared in the kitchen, in jeans, skate shoes, and the same club shirt she'd stripped from him earlier, unbuttoned. "Ah, Richelle my belle."

"Matt," she managed to reply, before happy tears spilled from her eyes, and she found herself back in his arms. It felt so good, and so right. She had to spend the night with him, it was meant to be, Jeff had passed out for a reason. She pressed her face tight to Matt's bare chest.

"What are you doing down here?" He asked, as he held her and stroked her hair.

She sniffled. "Jeff passed out."

"Why are you crying?" Matt asked, and kept stroking her hair.

"I...really don't know..." Richelle replied. She thought it was just happiness over Matt, but what she was really feeling was confusion. Too much had happened in one day, and she'd had no one to talk to about it. "I guess I'm...a little overwhelmed, maybe."

"Completely understandable," Matt said, simply. He wiped her tears away with the hem of his club shirt.

"What are you doing up?" She asked him.

"Going for a moonlight walk. The sky is very clear tonight, millions of stars. Did you want to come?" Matt asked, hopefully.

She kissed him. "I'd love to."

"Where are your shoes?"

Richelle looked down at her bare feet. "Damn, I left them up in Jeff's bathroom, on the sink."

"I'll go grab them. Need anything else from upstairs?"

"No, I remembered my purse," Richelle giggled.

Matt left, and came back with her shoes and socks. While she was pulling them on, she peeked at Matt from beneath her eyelashes, and nearly swooned when he saw how tender he was admiring her as she straightened the hems of her jeans. When she was done, he held out his arm and she took it, and they went out together, into the North Carolina night.


End file.
